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WILLIAM BLACKSTONE 













Copyright, 1S77. 

Rockwell & Churchill, 

Boston. 



Rockwell & Churchill, Frintors, 39 Aich Street, Boston. 



TO 



Efje ©lt( Soutl} ifiectins louse: 

ONE OF THE FEW REMAINING MONUMENTS OF OUR 
PROVINCIAL PERIOD, OF EVENTS AND MEN THAT 
HELPED TO ESTABLISH OUR NATIONAL 
INDEPENDENCE AND FREE INSTITU- 
TIONS, THIS TRIBUTE TO 
THE MEMORY OF 

William Blackstone, 

THE EARLIEST INHABITANT OF BOSTON, WHO ALSO 
LOVED LIBERTY, CIVIL AND RELIGIOUS, IS 



lixespectfxing ©^titrateti. 



ESTO PERPETUA.' 



Wh/T is KttOWf( OF BlACKSTOtiE. 



For several years previous to the first settlement of Boston, 
in September, 1630, William Blackstone, its earliest European 
inhabitant, occupied by himself what formed for long after- 
wards the principal part of it, and which was then known as 
Shawmut. It comprised an area of about eight hundred 
acres, since more than doubled bj accessions from the sea 
that surrounded it, the whole, with much besides annexed to 
our city from "the country round about, now crowded with 
population. Blackstone, a man of learning, an ordained min- 
ister of the Church of England, and, consequently, a graduate 
of one of its universities, unwilling to conform to ecclesiastical 
requirements which his conscience disappi'oved, had come to 
America " to get from under the power of the lords bishops." 
Here he dwelt, solitary and alone, raising his apples and roses, 
and reading his books, of which he had a plentiful supply. 

His solitude was unpleasantly disturbed in the summer of 
1630 by the arrival at Charlestown, across the river, of Win- 
throp and his company, under their patent of March 4, 1629. 
Their lives in peril from disease engendered by exposure and 
privation, and aggravated by the impurity of the water, he 
generously invited them over to share with him the more 
salubrious spot he inhabited, and which abounded in springs. 

Cheerfully yielding up to them the greater part of his 
possessions, he was contented himself to retain fifty acres, 
and six more adjacent, whereon stood his house. Our story 
intimates how it chanced that, a few years afterwards, " find- 
ing he had fallen under the power of the lords brethren," he 
surrendered the larger lot and all his rights within the then 
narrow neck of land conne(5ling the peninsula with Roxbury. 



IVIL LI AM BLA CKSTONE. 



except his six acres. He received six shillings from each 
householder, and, in some instances, larger sums in volun- 
tary contributions, for this release. It has been said that he 
disclaimed any other title but that of first discoverer and occu- 
pant, but this payment shows that the colonists considered 
that title to some extent, at least, valid or equitable. In 1623, 
the Council of New England had patented to Robert Gorges 
ten miles along the north-east shore of Massachusetts Bay, 
by thirty inland, with all islands, not previously granted, 
within three miles of the main land. Walford, at Charles- 
town ; Maverick, on what is now East Boston ; Thompson, 
who died in 1628, on the island that still bears his name; 
Blackstone, at Shawmut, are supposed to have held under this 
patent, and been pioneers of a projected plantation. 

Sir Ferdinando Gorges had received large grants from the 
Council farther north ; and, interested in the speedy coloniza- 
tion of the country, caused his son Robert to surrender his 
patent, and another issued, vesting in Winthrop and his 
associates what it covered, with the rest of Massachusetts, 
outside the limits of Plymouth, to the western sea. John 
Blackstone, a member of Parliament, appears to have taken 
an a6tive interest in the affairs of the infant plantations. As 
one of a parliamentary committee, in 1642, he invited Cotton, 
Hooker, and Davenport to come over for consultation upon 
the general condition of the realm. As one of the Council, he 
joined in a power to William Blackstone to deliver seisin under 
one of its patents. No consanguinity is known between John 
and William ; but their bearing the same name justifies the 
conjecture that such existed ; that our first settler did a(5l- 
ually possess claims entitled to compensation for their relin- 
quishment; and that John's position in the Council may have 
led William to take up his residence in New" England, when 
constrained by conscience to abandon the Church. 

Whereabouts, precisely, on the peninsula was his dwell- 
ing-place has long puzzled our historians. An early authority 
(Lechford) speaks of his residing on Blackstone's Point, on 



WILLIAM BLACKSTONE. 7 

Cambridge Bay, opposite the mouth of Charles River. It 
seems not to have occurred to Shaw, Snow, Drake, and Shurt- 
leff that his name might attach at that period to all Shawmut; 
and, regarding Barton's Point as what was intended, they 
located his house variously on Poplar or Cambridge streets 
or a mile away in the vicinity of Charlestown Bridge. The 
publication of Odlin's deposition, dated June lo, 1684, ac- 
corded with Suffolk Deeds, 26-84, ^s to Blackstone's release, 
discoui'aged the hope that further information might be 
gleaned by examination of these ancient volumes. The cor- 
respondence in area of the lot reserved by Blackstone, or 
assigned to him in 163 1, and that appropriated soon after his 
surrender as a common and training-field, and of his six-acre 
lot to that conveyed by Copley to Harrison Gray Otis and 
Jonathan Mason, in 1791, long since led the present writer to 
the conclusion that our beautiful Common was no other than 
his park and pasture ; that his orchard lay close by, and 
was substantially the same laid down as Bannister's gardens, 
on Burgiss' map of 1728, and that his house stood on the 
ground bounded by Beacon, Walnut, and Spruce streets, near 
to which latter street the sea then ebbed and flowed. 

Under the impression that his connection with our early 
history was too interesting an episode not to be kept in mind, 
the subject shaped itself into the present form ; and whilst 
thus engaged, another effort was made to procure, if possible, 
such additional light as the Suftblk Registry aftbrded. No 
conveyance is there believed to be recorded of the six-acre 
lot before 1719, when Bannister mortgaged it, then eight 
acres, for tAvo hundred pounds. But by the help of the last 
publication of the Record Commission, and Classified Index 
to Deeds prior to 1800, the deposition of Mrs. Ann Pollard, 
the first of Winthrop's company, as mentioned in the text, to 
leap ashore upon the peninsula, and who lived till 1725, when 
she had reached the age of one hundred and five, stood 
revealed. Strange to say, it was upon the same page as that 
of Odlin, so much better known. It states that Blackstone sold 



WILLIAM BLACKSTONE. 



his homestead to Richard Pepjs, who built a house on the 
land, of which her husband was the tenant, and possibly 
Pepys may have occupied another himself on the property. 
When Copley conveyed it, in 1791, two ancient houses stood 
upon the estate, in one of which he painted many of his ad- 
mirable portraits, and there his distinguished son, Lord 
Chancellor Lyndhurst, was born. 

The area then actually passing came nearer to twenty 
acres than six, the ordinance of 1647 giving proprietors of the 
upland one hundred rods below high-water mark. 

Pepys may have gone home at the restoration of the mon- 
archy, or earlier. We do not know that he was not the same 
Richard Pepys, cousin of Samuel, the entertaining diarist, 
and the Irish judge of 1664, from whom Lord Cottenham, 
chancellor in 1836-41, and a successor of Lyndhurst, de- 
scended. It would be agreeable to trace, in addition to 
those associations of great legal luminaries with the spot, yet 
another of the kind, and discover that our Blackstone was 
of the same family as his namesake, Sir William, the dis- 
tinguished commentator on the Laws of England, whose 
volumes never grow old and are ever pleasant to read, and 
who was born in London, son of Charles, in 1723, and died 
in 1780. The son of our William had sons, one of whom, a 
lieutenant, fell at the siege of Louisburg, in 1746. The only 
promising clue to the parentage and birthplace of our first 
inhabitant is a power, in 1653, of Sarah Blackstone (Suffolk 
Deeds) to collect money advanced, in which she is described 
as of Newcastle-upon-Tyne, and which mentions the name of 
Stevenson, that of the first husband of Blackstone's wife. 

In 1638 the authorities granted Blackstone fifteen acres at 
Muddy Brook, now Brookline, then a part of the town of Boston. 
He may have continued still a freeholder, possibly not have 
sold his estate, but it is generally presumed that he left wuth 
his cattle and books for Rehoboth in the spring of 1635. In 
a house he called Study Hall, a few rods from the river 
now bearing his name, on the declivity of what he called 



WIL L /AM B LA CKS TONE. 



Study Hill, about sixty feet in elevation, he resided the rest 
of his days. Miantonimo, nephew of Canonicus, king of the 
Narragansetts, Ocamsequin or Massasoit, king of Wampa- 
noags, were his friends, as also their sons Canonchet and king 
Philip, and his influence may have, during his life, averted 
the calamity of Indian hostilities which broke out soon after 
his death. That event took place May 26, 1675, when he had 
reached the age of fourscore. 

He occasionally visited Boston and Providence, and preached 
in the latter place, and at Boston, in 1659, before Gov. Endi- 
cott, married Mrs. Sarah Stevenson, widow of John, who died 
in June, 1673. His only child, John, sold the two hundred 
acres at Rehoboth, in 1693, to theWhipples, who very recently 
owned them. The house, barns, and books — nearly two hun- 
dred in number, quartos and folios, and some Latin — were 
burnt by the Indians in 1676, one of their few victories having 
been gained not far from Study Hill. In the conflagration of 
his house perished his manuscript volumes and other papers, 
very possibly of great interest. His grave, near the site of his 
dwelling, may be still marked by stones at the head and foot ; 
but he should have appropriate monuments raised to his 
memoi-y both there and here. 

If to be deplored that our first inhabitant did not leave his 
own monuments in word and deed, if his life coursed on and 
left no waif behind it, there is much in his chara(5ler and career 
for respe6lful admiration. Conscientious, noble, and gener- 
ous, his intellectual pursuits, love of nature, cultivation of 
the earth, and subjedlion of the lords of the pasture to his 
bidding, his courage and faith strike sympathetic chords. 
Nor should his preference of seclusion to the busy world be 
condemned without remembering what that world was which 
he abandoned. A self-complacent, perfidious tyrant on the 
throne, besotted with indulgence, merciless from impunity, 
robbing his subjedls to enrich favorites that imprisoned or 
beheaded, or worse, at their will or his own ; a people that 
tamely submitted ; a Church of rite and dogma without Christi- 



lO WILLIAM BLACKSTONE. 

anity, — from this seething caldron of corruption emerged later 
the furies of retribution ; and minister, primate, and another 
king, his son, quite as arbitrary, went to the block. No marvel 
that the howl of the wild beast of the forest and the yell of the 
savage lost their terrors ; or that the good seed separated 
from the chaff and came here to plant. The recluse, grown 
sensitive to rude contadl with his kind, strove in vain to con- 
quer his repugnance and become as other men. He negledled 
no opportunity to do them service, but valued too highly his 
own independence to submit to their didlation. Circum- 
stance and Providence had circumscribed his paths, and he 
had not the motive and, perhaps, not the strength to open 
others for himself. 




WILLIAM BLACKSTONE. 




' IGH on an eminence he stood, 
His thoughts beyond the sea, 
For he had left his native land 

That he might here be free, — 
Free from the thrall of unjust laws, 

Far from a despot king. 
Prelates whose haughty will would all 

To like subjeaion bring. 
Too true and honest to accept 

What conscience disapproved, 
Its dictates he obeyed, and left 

All that at home he loved. 
If his from all the world to choose, 

Surely no lovelier spot 
Than where our three-hilled city stands 

To dwell, all else forgot. 
The sylvan scene around, beneath. 

He claimed it as his own, 
Nor cared, while Providence proteds. 

That he was there alone. 

Not quite alone ; the curling smoke — 
Near hills like smoke in hue — 

Marked where a noble sachem dwelt. 
He found both kind and true. 



WILLIAM BLACKSTONE. 



Save him, and one across the bay, 

One, whose island home lay near, 
He lived a solitary man. 

No kindred soul to cheer. 
Nor had he need ; his well-stored mind, 

Books rich with precious lore. 
His sea-girt home of hill and dale. 

He asked from Heaven no more. 
Whatever worth his while to know, 

Or Old World could impart, 
In college cloisters he had learned, — 

A priest of guileless heart. 

In times when every rank, degree. 

Appropriate garments wore, 
His priestly garb made plain to sight 

The sacred name he bore. 
From Merrymount or Plymouth Rock 

Did saint or sinner stray. 
He gave them of his frugal meal. 

And sped them on their way. 
The mocker stayed his ribald jest ; 

The Indian bowed his head ; 
All recognized the man of God, 

Who shared with him his bread. 

Years came and went, his chief delight 
To watch the seasons change, 

To fish or fowl along the shore. 
Or neighboring hills to range ; 

Cull cress and herb, and mark the Spring 



WILLIAM BLACKSTONE. 



Her measured mazes tread, 
Mayflower, violet, eglantine, 

Each morn new odor shed ; 
Roses from home, that cherished ties 

Kept in perennial bloom, 
Carols awakening memories 

Which living forms assume. 

He roams the woods, and tracks the deer 

Through winter's drift of snow. 
Or on its crust, in snow-shoes glides 

With every pulse aglow ; 
Now mid the summer moonbeams floats 

Upon the waters wide 
That washed up to his cottage door, 

With each returning tide. 

His trees in spring perfume the breeze. 

In autumn yield their fruit ; 
If no Eve there with him to share. 

Serpent to bruise his foot. 
His Eden ground requites his toil. 

Each moderate want supplies ; 
With grateful heart received what sent. 

Nor craved what God denies. 

When frosty days the night closed in 
He sought his sheltered nook. 

Beside the blazing logs to muse, 
Or con his favorite book ; 

Little he dreamed that Copley's brush. 



14 WILLIAM BLACKSTONE. 

Where stood his humble cot, 
Should one day magic works create, 

Not to be soon forgot. 
Yet still perchance, as lulled the storm, 

The stirring tones he hears 
Of Lyndhurst's matchless eloquence, 

Thrice chief among his peers ; 
Nor only famous for his birth. 

His eye prophetic scanned 
A throng of men since known to fame, 

Whose homes stood close at hand : 
Otis, of honeyed eloquence ; 

Channing, from heaven astray ; 
Prescott, of lucid narrative ; 

Motley and Phillips play ; 
And merchant princes, bold and wise. 

Warm heart and liberal hand. 
Who reaped rich harvests from the seas 

To enrich their native land. 
Might one but tell their honored names, 

Refinement, culture, w^orth. 
What brighter spot than his own home 

To illuminate the earth } 

And, as the flickering embers cast 
Strange shadows on his walls, 

The dreamer saw those walls expand 
Into palatial halls. 

Where golden youth, whose thrifty sires 
Worked that their sons might play, 

With merry laugh and pleasant chat 



WILLIAM BLACKSTONE. \ r 



Beguile the hours away. 
He saw before their windows spread 

A paradise of shade, 
Where lake and turf cooed lovingly 

And gleaming fountains played. 
And all around, in myriad forms, 

A glorious city grown, 
Of thrice a hundred thousand souls. 

Whose fame through earth is known ; 
With freedom, faith, and culture blest 

To bloom till time grows old, — 
The fairest rose that decks our orb 

Were half its marvels told. 
Perhaps the lifted clouds disclosed 

Much that to us is dim, — 
A future as much more wondrous still 

As what is now to him. 

Yet not alone glad themes like these 

Possessed his busy thought, 
Which, wandering back in fancy, traced 

What all such marvels wrought. 
A nation angry with its king 

Who would a tyrant be ; 
That gory head, the bloody axe ; 

Sure now they must be free. 
Ah, no ! not vet the lesson taueht. 

Not yet is earned the prize. 
They first must learn to rule themselves, 

Be honest, just, and wise. 
Not Cromwell, with his gloomv rule, 



1 6 WILLIAM BLACKS TONE. 



Nor Stuarts, gay or trist, 
Orange nor Brunswick, cared to know 

For subjeds thrones exist. 
Not all of Marlborough's vidlories, 

Laurels by land or sea. 
Could make a nation truly great, 

Unless both good and free. 
Not all her glowing page reveals, 

Her statesmanship has won. 
Science or art can glorious make 

With half her work undone. 
Though every realm between the poles 

To her its homage pays. 
In people's weal and happiness 

A nation's grandeur lays. 

Time's footsteps, as they hurry on, 

May not at each mile-stone stop ; 
Yet generations, grown more free, 

Each reign some shackle drop. 
Till knowledge, its inheritance. 

And law divine, supreme. 
Our father-land, the Eden be, 

Pictured in Blackstone's dream. 

All that can chance, 'tis said, in dreams. 
Flits like lightning around the earth ; 

But limbs grown chill admonishing. 
Fresh fagots heap the hearth. 

And as the genial flame again 
The cheerful room illumes. 



WILLIAM BLACKSTONE. 



A sense of comfort came once more, 
And he his theme resumes. 

Now, in the "Mayflower" cabin grouped. 

The Pilgrims sign the deed, 
Which, basing rule on equal rights, 

Of freedom sowed the seed. 
Through tribulations dire, that seed, 

Like winter grain, they sow. 
As nations ripen to receive, 

The earth to overgrow. 

He sees how other men, like him. 

Grown weary of their kind. 
Home, friends, and country all forsake, 

In other lands to find. 
Many for whom no cover laid, 

At Nature's table there, 
With wife and child, and all they have, 

Hard hand and heart to dare. 

He sees the swiftly speeding bark. 

Fleets wing their westward flight. 
Till where the beast or savage roamed 

They gather in their might. 
Indians in vain provoke their wrath. 

Frenchmen in vain contend. 
Their armies Louisburg reduce 

Or Abraham's Heights ascend. 

France yields the realm she cannot hold, 
And prostrate every foe ; 



WILLIAM BLACKSTONE. 



They claim their honest rights as men, 
For freedom strike the blow. 

What need repeat that honored roll, 
Who fought on field or flood. 

Who, sage in council as in war. 
Sealed their brave faith in blood ? 

'Tis not alone the deathless names 

That glory's meed deserve ; 
Theirs, though obscure, who nobly fell, 

Angels above preserve. 
No prouder heirloom for their race 

Than in such struggle die. 
Which gave a mighty nation birth, 

First-born of Liberty. 

And as imagination paints 

Its spread from sea to sea, — 
Cities and states of wondrous growth ; 

Four million slaves set free, — 
That little cot seemed all too small 

To cage so bold a wing ; 
He issued forth into the night, 

To hark the seraphs sing. 
Where stars on stars, in lustrous blaze. 

Decked the high arch above. 
And, gazing on their circling orbs, 

How could he doubt God's love, 
Or to his power a limit fix. 

Or to his will to bless ? 



WILLIAM BLACKSTONE. 1 9 

He knew that he was infinite, 

And his law happiness. 
Calm and subdued, at peace with Heaven, 

Sweet sleep his being fills ; 
And sunshine, when he oped his door. 

Purpled the snow-clad hills. 

Thus glided by the hermit's life, 

He hoped might never change. 
When i\nnors came across the sea. 

Tidings of purport strange. 
Ten years had passed since "Mayflower" brought 

The Pilgrims to the shore ; 
And now, with many a sister bark, 

They bring a thousand more ; 
Of generous culture, brave, devout. 

Women of high degree. 
From homes of ease and affluence, 

A goodly company. 
Beyond the stream, where Warren fell. 

Rose one spacious home for all ; 
And long, before the corn grew ripe. 

They gathered in its hall. 

Unused to hardships, sorrowing 

For friends the seas divide, 
They droop and sicken, one by one ; 

Even their physician died. 
Grim Death appalled some frighted souls, 

To some a welcome guest. 
The wise to Providence resigned. 



20 WILLIAM BLACKS TONE. 

However sore distressed. 
Their barks but scanty food supplied ; 

Untilled as yet the fields ; 
And soon to fevered lips the spring 

No more refreshment yields. 
It w^as a sorry sight to see, 

To make one's heart to bleed ; 
How could a Christian man unmoved 

Regard such urgent need ? 
His springs and brooks in copious streams 

With crystal waters welled ; 
He gave them all they wished and more, — 

Naught but his farm withheld. 

Yet all he had suffered from his kind, 

He could not quite forget ; 
Too dearly loved his solitude 

To lose without regret. 
We found him, when our tale began, 

Where now our golden dome 
Sheds lustre on our little world, 

On many a happy home. 
The hill, then loftier far than now, 

Looked out upon the sea. 
Which in the setting sunbeams glowed 

In molten brilliancy. 
And as he gazed, sad memories stole 

Of all his days before ; 
Of many a grief to wring his heart. 

And disappointment sore. 
When left to nature and himself. 



WILLIAM BLACKSTONE. 



Life had been pleased content ; 
But every fibre of his soul 

The world had wrenched and rent. 
He had placed implicit trust in Heaven, 

And, striving to do right, 
Solace, all unexpedled, came. 

As follows day the night. 
If dread presentiments of ill 

Perplex his troubled soul, 
He fearlessly submits his will 

To that supreme control, 
Which, thus far on his pilgrimage 

His never-failing guide, 
Will not forget him or forsake, 

Whatever chance betide. 
His heart still yearned to be at home ; 

Familiar faces see ; 
And all he left for conscience' sake 

In lands beyond the sea. 

That sea, as set the parting sun. 

The gathering darkness shrouds. 
Whilst western skies its lingering beam 

Heaps high with gorgeous clouds. 
Rose, blue, or emerald, every tint 

Of gold or flower or gem 
Mingled or gleamed with opal change 

Alp, throne, or diadem. 
It was a glorious spe(5lacle, 

And, as entranced the view. 
The omen he accepts as sent 



22 WILLIAM BLACKSTONE. 

His courage to renew. 
With swelling heart and radiant face 

He marked their splendors die ; 
His homeward path the evening star 

Beaconing from twilight sky. 

When once resolved, he, wavering not, 

His invitation gave. 
Which to that haggard crowd appeared 

Like rescue from the grave. 
They waste no time, but speedily 

Their preparations make, 
And, 'ere the hai*vest moon has waned. 

Their way across they take. 
The first that leaped ashore lived on 

Near a hundred years to tell, — 
Her wrinkled front on canvas shows 

What that long life befel. 

Not all could come, — some quite too ill 

To move from where they were ; 
Bold men explored the higher streams, 

Or settled Dorchester ; 
And Salstonstall to Watertown, 

Dudley to Cambridge guide, — 
The sires to countless multitudes 

An honest source of pride. 

But Winthrop came, and hosts whose names 

Descendants bear to-day ; 
Johnson, whose loved remains they bring. 



WILLIAM BLACKSTONE. 23 

And funeral honors pay ; 
Wilson, their pastor, best of guides, 

Through thorny paths to steer, 
Who left St. Botolph's noble fane 

To keep his conscience clear ; 
Grave men, in sober garb arrayed, 

Matrons, both wise and good, 
Young men, of manly form and port. 

And fairest maidenhood. 

Near where they land, and friends they left, 

Some habitations reared. 
But what of splendor graced the place 

Has long since disappeared. 
The marts of trade and squalid want 

Now occupy the ground, 
Where Mathers, Hutchinsons, Revere, 

Once shed their lustre round. 
And fashion, wandering farther west, 

Aftedls that region gay. 
Where Boston's sole inhabitant 

Passed many a happy day. 

Their choicest lot they gave to him, 

In hearts and councils first ; 
Its wholesome waters flow to-day 

As when they quenched his thirst. 
At equal distance from its gates. 

The beacon and the fort. 
The country roused against the foe, 

Protects their infant port. 



24 WILLIAM BLACKS TONE. 

The briny currents ebbed and flowed, 

Freshening the air around ; 
Mingling their perfume with the flowers 

That decked his garden ground. 
His modest home of EngHsh oak, 

Like tents the Arabs fold, 
Thrice moved, before it anchored fast, 

Till England lost her hold 
On this broad land she threw away, 

Not heeding his words of light. 
That liberty is simply law 

Which gives each man his right. 
Her vandal soldiers burnt for warmth 

Each massive beam and floor. 
Where he had cordial welcome given 

Alike to rich and poor. 
His brother rulers graced his board, 

And many an Indian chief; 
That there he Blackstone entertained, 

Is not beyond belief. 

Our theme is Blackstone's history, 

Not that of Winthrop's home ; 
But, standing on this sacred spot. 

The words unbidden come. 
He died ; and after Wilson passed. 

That gifted man in prayer, 
Norton, fed his flock, and here abode 

Till Heaven called him there. 
In dying he a portion gave 

His widow, all the rest 



WILLIAM BLACKSTOXE. 



To raise another house to God, 

And succor the distressed. 
Here Stoughton told of winnowed seed, 

Sewall confessed his fault, 
And pious pastors by the score 

The Infinite exalt. 
Prince wrote his annals, books collecfls 

Rare and of price untold ; 
Some went to kindle Winthrop's house, 

Well worth their weight in gold. 

Here the bold eloquence, that fired 

The heart to daring deed. 
Denounced the tyrant in his might, 

Our blessed country freed. 
When dusky form and warwhoop dread, 

And steady tramp drew near. 
To throw the tea into the sea, 

Its crowded thousands cheei". 
See Warren, when soldiers rude shut out. 

Through open window glide. 
His kerchief on pointed muzzle drop, 

Shame foes whom he defied. 

If Faneuil's hall its cradle be. 

This church is Freedom's school ; 

Both teach its priceless boon to gain. 
How best preserved its rule. 

Their hallowed walls, in spirit tones, 
Repeat each honored name ; 

Those glorious voices keep alive 



26 WILLIAM BLACKSTONE. 

The telephone of fame. 
Yet in no feeble whispers breathe, 

With no uncertain sound, 
Their bugle notes stir valiant hearts. 

Where any despot's found. 
Let not these glorious monuments. 

Of word and a*(5lion brave, 
Be swept from earth while freedom lasts. 

Whilst freemen live to save. 
The Ipswich room, where Norton prayed. 

Wrote words to search or burn. 
Its shelves and tables all remain. 

Awaiting his return. 
If anarch ever rule the land. 

Or tyrant forge the chain, 
These very walls will be a power 

To drive them forth again. 

We cannot shape our destiny. 

Or one who dearly prized 
Religious freedom, human right, 

Would all have sacrificed. 
With Eliot, Hampden, to oppose 

Encroachments of the crown, 
Bearing his part as valiantly, 

W^inning the like renown. 
But no such opportunities 

Lay in Blackstone's path of life. 
And long estrangement from his kind 

Made him averse to strife. 
The earnest faith the Puritans 



WILLIAM BLACKSTONE. 2/ 



In daily walks displayed 
Awoke an echo in his breast, 

On simple tenets stayed. 
Though all the land was his by law 

They could not well gainsay, 
He as a freeman took his part, 

Prayed in their church of clay. 
Besides his fifty-acre farm. 

And six he dwelt upon. 
He made them welcome to the rest, 

And by himself lived on. 
Later that farm, from then till now 

To public use applied, 
He gave up, all contributing. 

To be our special pride. 

When antinomians disturbed 

The peace that reigned before. 
And women gathered near at hand. 

On husbands closed the door. 
Dared boldly to assert their right 

To think as they saw fit, 
Deemed grace far better than good works. 

Free will than holy writ, 
Winthrop would fain the turmoil still, 

As other men of sense ; 
Sir Harry Vane but fanned the flame. 

To make it more intense. 
The women conquered. At tlie helm 

Vane steered the ship of state, 
And would have wrecked it on the shoals, 



28 WILLIAM BLACKSTONE. 

If such had been its fate. 
Blackstone loved liberty of thought ; 

His views were too defined 
For any subtle points like these 

To fret his equal mind. 
Perchance, as no Rachel blessed his lot, 

It served but to amuse, 
And heard with patience either side 

The other side abuse. 

Not so when Williams, Gorton came, 

With views more like his own. 
And Puritans from recent strife 

Intolerant had grow^n, 
And would have forced him to conform 

To rules not to his mind ; 
He grieved to think that freedom gone 

He had lost so much to find. 
He told them plainly he had come 

Of lord bishops to be rid, 
And not disposed to be controlled 

By lords brethren in their stead. 

Once more he had tried to love his kind. 

Place faith in Christian men ; 
He found them harsh, unjust, and sought 

His solitude again. 
With herd and book he wends his way 

Through forests dense and drear. 
And by the stream that bears his name 

Abode, no neighbors near. 



WILLIAM BLACKSTONE. 29 

When later Roger Williams came, 

Another State to plant, 
Religious liberty proclaim. 

More friends he did not want. 
Massasoit, Miantonimo, 

Knew well his modest worth. 
Allowed no Indian of their tribes 

Intrude upon his hearth. 
Taste, if not splendor, graced his home. 

In rural labor skilled. 
His herds and flocks fast multiplied, 

His barns rich harvests filled. 
The trees he planted long survived, 

Famed for the fruit they bore. 
And trace remains of Blackstone, dead 

Two centuries and more. 

He loved his books, but nature too. 

Explored the country wild, 
Mounted upon his cream-white steer. 

Submissive as a child. 
As age advanced, he prized less dear 

An independent life, 
And, yearning for companionship, 

It blessed him in a wife ; 
For, often thus revisiting 

The spot so long his home, 
His steed brought back a blooming bride, 

More pleased than Jove's to come. 
A dozen years of happy days 

Of mutual love had flown, 



30 



WILLIAM BLACKSTONE. 



Death took her gently from his side, 

Nor wholly left alone. 
One only child engrossed his thoughts, 

Yet requited ill his care. 
For, when at fourscore Blackstone died, 

He proved a spenthrift heir. 

So says the legend. But portents dark 

Shrouded the land in gloom 
As Philip struck one vigorous blow 

To avert his coming doom. 
He knew full well that lust for power, 

Greed for the wilds he roved, 
Must soon exterminate his race. 

Unless that chance improved. 
In forest glades his dusky braves, 

Their fiery war-paint dight. 
Swooped down with yell and purpose fell 

Upon the towns at night ; 
Torch, scalping-knife, and tomahawk 

Their ruthless vengeance wreak ; 
They bravely battled w^ith the strong. 

But did not spare the weak. 
For near two years, with varied chance. 

The bloody strife w^ent on ; 
Their foes bought traitors in their camp. 

And thus the victory w^on. 
The chiefs, who wisely laid their plans. 

On many a field fought hard, 
Fell martyrs for their peoples' rights ; 

What nobler theme for bard } 



WILLIAM BLA CKS TONE. 



The Narragansett king of realms 

None fairer to behold, 
Refused to barter land for life, 

His faithful braves for gold. 
His sole request, — no white man's hand 

Should pierce his faithful breast, — 
Pequods his generous spirit sent 

Where Indian braves are blest. 
Philip well knew the cause was lost, 

And, saddened, not dismayed, 
Calmly prepared himself for death. 

Not long to be delayed. 
Ere6t upon his lofty throne. 

Between azure sea and sky, 
He took one last, fond, lingering look, 

Then bowed his head to die. 

Blackstone lay quiet in his grave. 

But the fierce tornado swept 
House, barns, and written page away 

The world were richer kept. 
The son less frugal than the sire. 

His farm, now precious grown. 
Passed to a race that valued it 

Because once Blackstone's own. 
His grandson fell at Louisburg, 

And descendants yet may be 
From Shawmut's sole inhabitant, 

To love his memory. 



WILLIAM BLACKSTONE. 33 



NOTES 



IPage 7.] 

The following deposition of Mrs. Ann Pollard is that alluded to as 
identifying Blackstone's house as situated on Beacon, between Walnut and 
Spruce streets, on the grounds upon Burgiss's map of 1728, set down as 
Bannister's gardens: — 

"The deposition of Anne Pollard, of Boston, widow, aged about eighty- 
nine years. This deponent testifyeth and saith : that this deponent's hus- 
band, Mr. William Pollai'd, occupied and improved a certain piece or 
parcel of land situated near the bottom of the Common, at the westerly part 
thereof, in Boston aforesaid, and bounded on the sea south-west for many 
years ; and that her said husband had hired the same of Richard Peepys, late 
of Boston aforesaid, gentleman, deceased, who often told this deponent 
that he, the said Peepys, bought the said land of Mr. Blackstone, clerk, 
formerly of Boston aforesaid; and further, that deponent saith that the said 
Peepys built a house thereon, wherein this deponent and her said husband 
dwelt for near fourteen years, during which time the said Blackstone used 
frequently to resort thereto ; and this deponent never heard any controversy 
between him and the said Peepys about the said land, but that the same was 
always reputed to belong to him, as this deponent understood; and she 
further says, that soon after the sale thereof, as she supposeth, the said 
Blackstone removed from this town of Boston; and further saith not. 

"ANNE POLLARD. 

" Boston, December 26, 1711." 

IPage 7.] 
The Charles river, so named for the unfortunate monarch who expiated 
his father's faults and his own on the scaftold, was called by the Indians 
Quinobequin. 

IPage II. J 

1. Chickatabut, whose conveyance of the peninsula and lands to the 
colonists in 1630 was confirmed by his grandson, Wampatuck, in i684-S. 

{.Page 12.] 

2. Thomas Walford, at Mishawum, now Charlestown; David Thomp- 
son died 162S, at the island now bearing his name and occupied by the Farm 
School ; Samuel Maverick lived at what is now known as East Boston. 



34 WILLIAM BLACKSTONE. 

IPage 12.] 

3. Merry Mount, near Mount Wollaston, where Thomas Morton held his 
revels. 

IPage 13.] 

According to tradition, roses, of English varieties, adorned the garden of 
Blackstone. In "Merrymount," Motley describes him as riding on a bull. 
This is possible, since cattle vv^ere sent out to the colony at Strawberry Bank, 
on the coast of Maine, to Cape Ann and Plymoiith, between 1620 and 1630 ; 
and Maverick, no doubt, had many on his island. That Blackstone broke in 
a bull to bit and bridle, and scampered upon its back over his domain, then 
consisting of seven hundred and fifty acres, is not impossible, or, perhaps, 
improbable; but, as his riding later about his new home at Rehoboth, and in 
visiting Providence and Boston on such an animal of the color mentioned, 
is well authenticated, the earlier bull may be a myth. The text, endeav- 
oring to be historically accurate, reluctantly refrains from an incident, 
which, if it rested upon more reliable tradition, would add another interest- 
ing association with the earliest settlement of our city. 

IPage 14.] 
The house at the corner of Walnut and Beacon streets was built by John 
Phillips, first mayor of Boston, and father of the distinguished orator. The 
father of John Lothrop Motley, when the historian was a boy, lived on 
Walnut street, opposite the head of Chestnut; Dr. Channing on Mount 
Vernon, Otis and Prescott on Beacon. 

iPage 14.] 
Blackstone in his vision may be supposed to have recognized many other 
celebrities, local or world-renowned, connedted with the future of his farm, 
whose names are household words. But too many are living to warrant an 
allusion to them. Francis Parkman and Charles Francis Adams are too 
widely known for reserve; McLean, whose name attaches to one of our 
charities he contributed largely to found, and David Sears, whose generous 
benefadlions relieve hundreds of the worthy poor, with scores of more, 
familiar from their munificence, public service, and local influence, have 
dwelt or dwell now within its limits. 

IPage 19.] 

Seventeen vessels came in May and June, chiefly to Salem, whence a large 
part of the colonists moved to Charlestown. A large house had been 
eredled there for their accommodation on the Square. It was afterwards 
used for a tavern, and burnt on the day of the battle of Bunker Hill. Dr. 
Gager died on the 2d, and Isaac Johnson, whose wife was the Lady Arbella, 
daughter of the Earl of Lincoln, on the 30th of September; but he was 
buried in the King's Chapel burying-ground. 



WILLIAM BLACKSTONE. 35 

{Page 22.] 
North Square was till recent days the centre of many handsome residences 
— Hutchinson's and Sir Henry Frankland's being the most costly and mem- 
orable. 

[Page 23.] 
The lot assigned to Winthrop was nearly identical with that owned by 
the Old South Congregation before their recent removal to Dartmouth 
street. It extended from Spring lane to Milk street, from Washington to 
the lane once known as Jolliffe's, now Sewall place. The house erecfted by 
Winthrop stood on the north, or Spring lane side, of the property. It was 
used for a century as the parsonage, and burnt during the siege of Boston 
by British soldiers, in 1775, for fuel. 

[Page 35.] 

Sewall confessed his fault for hanging the witches, in meeting-time, 
before the assembled congregation. 

[Page 29.] 
Blackstone's orchard in Boston was well grown when he left Boston for 
Rehoboth, where, about his abode at Study Hill, he owned two hundred 
acres, and more in the neighborhood of Providence. His son John sold 
to Mr. Whipple, whose descendants still own, or did till recently. 

[Page 29.] 

The story of Jupiter, the white bull, and Europa is well known to classi- 
cal scholars. 

[Page 31.] 
Canonchet, soon after the battle of the plains, near Blackstone's abode, in 
March, 1676, left his army of fifteen hundred men, with a slender following, 
to procure seed-corn at Seekonk. The 7th of April he was surprised at 
Study Hill and captured, and was carried to Stonington. He declined all 
overtures for surrendering his own and his people's territory in exchange for 
his life, only praying his captors that his death-blow might be speedily given 
by Uncas, a sagamore of the Pcquods. It was not so ordered; but, in the 
presence of Major Denison, the Pequods shot him; Mohegans cut off his 
head, quartered and dismembered his body; Ninnicroft's men burnt the 
remains, except the head, which they presented to the council at Hartford. 
His principal residence, as that of his fiither, Miantonimo, is believed to 
have been Taminy Hill, in Newport, his dominions extending over the 
islands and westerly shore of Narragansett Bay. 



36 



WILLIAM BLACKSTONE. 



IPage 31.] 
King Philip, sachem of Pokanoket, youngest son of Ocamsequin, or 
Massasoit, succeeded his brother Alexander as king of the Wampanoags in 
1657. His policy was to drive the English into the sea and recover the 
country for the Indian tribes. Sausaman, his secretary, and a convert of 
John Eliot's, betrayed his plans to his enemies. Two traditions exist as to 
his death: one, that he was slain by Church's men, Saturday morning, 
August 12, 1676, in a swamp, while attempting to escape; the other, upon 
Mount Hope, as related in the text. Mount Hope, in Bristol, overlook- 
ing Narragansett Bay and the sea, w^as one of his abodes; Long Pond, at 
Rainham, near the old home of the Leonards, another. Annawan, chief of 
the council of Philip, and his best general, was captured, August 2Sth, at 
Squannecook marsh, in Rehoboth, by Church, who endeavored to save his 
life; but, much to his chagrin, he was beheaded at Plymouth, Tuopaquin, 
a noble Massachusetts warrior, captured later, being his companion in 
death. 

As the forms were going to the press, " Merrymount," read many years 
ago, came to light from an out-of-the-way corner of the writer's shelves. 
His attempt to render more familiar to present generations what has been 
transmitted of the hermit of Shawmut would have been discouraged had 
Motley's vivid and complete account of him been remembered. Some sup- 
posed incidents will be found both in the novel and poem ; but in the latter 
they were not borrowed from the former, but suggested by the subject com- 
mon to both. The reader of the novel will take especial delight in this early 
scintillation of a genius which has since commanded the admiration of the 
world. The situation of Blackstone's abode in the book accords with that 
determined beyond all farther controversy by the deposition of Mrs. Pollard. 
For the moose-colored bull on which the novel mounts the sole inhabitant 
is claimed historical proof, and his solitude is cheered by a fawn, possiblj' 
no creature of the imagination, but an actuality, as the minotaur, supported 
by evidence. 



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